


But Now I See

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sheppard is blinded, he has a lot more help than he'd expected. Including from Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Now I See

First published in  _Critias 1_ (2009)

 

It wasn’t hard to find the whereabouts of the scientific party exploring yet another section of Atlantis. The listless soldiers clumped around the doorway to one room were a dead giveaway.

John Sheppard grinned at them as he approached. “Did you get bored, or did they kick you out?”

“We’re securing the hallway, sir,” Lt. Tchemeti answered in a tone just short of eye-rolling. As much as John had relaxed regulations on Atlantis, there were still some things his men didn’t do with their commanding officer. Like complain openly about the scientists.

“I see.” He nodded. “Well, carry on.” At the doorway, John leaned in to the lieutenant. “They get to me after a while, too.”

The Marine’s mouth showed only the faintest hint of a grin. “Yes, sir.”

Still smiling, John walked into the room.

There wasn’t much to see, just a few databanks and chairs, but apparently that was enough. While the scientists disdainfully refused to check out any rooms that were obviously abandoned personal quarters or something equally mundane, there was no peeling them away from scientific finds. Considering Rodney McKay himself was at the center of blue-shirts clumped around one of the databanks, this was a sizeable one.

“Lemme guess. You finally found an Atlantean TV.”

Unlike the soldiers, Rodney had no compunctions against rolling his eyes at the ranking military officer of the expedition. “While I’m sure that would be the height of scientific discovery for you, no. The Ancients were more advanced than we were, remember?”

“How advanced could a race be without Monday Night Football?” John asked innocently.

Rodney’s fingers never slowed in punching buttons on his electronic clipboard. “Right, because grown men wearing padding and crashing into each other at high speeds has always been a sign of intelligence.”

John held up a finger. “Don’t forget the ball.”

The clipboard lowered, Rodney’s short limits of exasperation reached. “Did you want something, or are you just feeling particularly irritating today and wanted to share.”

John stepped closer. “Actually, yeah—Elizabeth was just asking—”

A panel on the wall next to him, just beside the door, lit with a sudden rainbow of silent, blinking lights, startling John into silence and Rodney into motionless amazement. “What did you do?”

“Me?” John gaped at Rodney, then back at the wall. “I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even thinking anything.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

The lights flashed faster.

Rodney wormed out from among his clutch of scientists—was a group of scientists even called a clutch?—to better stare at the wall a dozen feet behind John. “I didn’t know it could do that.”

“I think the question is, is it supposed to be doing that?” John asked uneasily as the lights grew increasingly hyperactive.

“Maybe you should—”

With a blast of sound and white light, the panel exploded.

Fire on his face. Icicles in his eyes.

John screamed.

His hands clutched to his face, he could barely hear the shouts, stomping boot thuds, or spitting circuits. Rodney’s cursing would have intrigued him some other time, but now there was nothing but the violent pain slashing through his eyeballs.

“Don’t…” Other hands pulled at his own. “I know it hurts but you have to loosen your grip or you’ll make it worse.”

That didn’t make sense to the instinctive part of his brain that knew he’d been hurt and was trying to both ease the agony and protect him from more. John groaned—kept groaning, because those sounds of distress had probably been coming from him—and pulled free, stumbling…somewhere for help.

“Sit down. Carson’s coming.” Hands again, gentle but firm. They went from pushing him down to grabbing his elbow to keep him from crashing when his legs folded. “Not like—Major, pay attention!”

The rank, or maybe the commanding voice, triggered his training even through the distraction of his slashed eyes and burning skin. Rodney. It was Rodney, sounding as scared as John felt. Which wasn’t helping. Oh, God, his eyes…

“Should we rinse his face off?” Another voice, distant.

“No…no. Beckett’ll be here in a minute. We could make it worse.” John realized his head was hanging when his neck was squeezed with a tentative grip. “Major, try not to press on your eyes—you could damage them further. Just…hang on, try to relax. Slow breaths.”

Slow breaths. He was blind and in excruciating pain, and Rodney was playing Lamaze coach. John’s laugh caught in his throat, choked rather than amused.

Another hot stab of pain through his eyes had his hand spasming over his face, and Rodney’s grip disappeared from his neck to take firm hold of his wrists. “Keep it together one more minute, Major,” came the soothing voice.

Soothing and Rodney—who knew? Another flare of pain hit, but the first shock had passed and John just gritted his teeth against it. Keep it together. Yeah, he was a soldier; he could do this.

And, somehow, he did. Through Carson’s arrival and peeling away of his hands, through the tears or blood or whatever it was that was rolling down his cheeks, through the pinch of a needle, almost negligible amidst all the misery. Fog rolled in after that, dampening the pain and his panic, leaving him floating and fuzzy and untethered except for Carson working on his face and Rodney still gripping one of his wrists. He missed the transfer to a gurney and dozed through the trip up to the infirmary.

And woke, with a start, to solid darkness.

“Easy, now, Major.” Carson’s voice now, to go with the fingers plucking his questing hand from mid-air and lowering it back to the bed. “No touching.”

“Doc?” His voice sounded coarse, and John cleared his throat. “My eyes?” His face felt tight and stinging, but his looks he could live without. The swathes of gauze brushing against the irritated skin was something else. His sight…

“Your eyes are bandaged, John.” His name sounded strange in Scottish tones. “The shrapnel was minimal, fortunately, but they’ve sustained a bit o’ a shock. They need some time to recover.”

“But they’ll be okay, right?” he said, very, very far from the nonchalance he was trying for.

Carson hesitated. That said more than the “I think so” following ever could have. “Your face has some light burns, mostly first degree—there’ll be no scarring.” For reassurance, it was weak, and they both knew it. “Just rest now, Major.” His shoulder was patted awkwardly, before he felt Carson move away.

Leaving him with no idea where exactly he was in the infirmary, who else was there, or even what time of day it was. Real fear of helplessness and silent danger climbed up his chest and lodged in his throat like a solid object.

The cool fingers that unexpectedly curled around his wrist made him jerk.

“I’m sorry, John—I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted you to know, you won’t be alone in this.”

Elizabeth. He’d have thought diplomatic skills would extend to bedside manner, but apparently not. John willed himself not to pull away, but he was having one rotten day and he wasn’t about to make nice to put others at ease. “Yeah, well, it feels pretty alone here in the dark,” he said roughly.

Her grasp tightened momentarily, then eased away. “I can’t even imagine. But if there’s anything we can do to make things easier for you…”

“How about a cane and a Seeing Eye dog?” He usually shrugged things off with at least a surface casualness: carefree Shep, going with the flow. But he couldn’t seem to manage the attitude now, the bitterness refusing to be stemmed. Even his grip on simple civility was slipping.

And still she didn’t take the hint. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

His jaw shifted, stretching seared skin, which only fed his rising anger. John opened his mouth to retort.

“I think the major needs his rest now.”

Rodney, muted. The incongruity made Sheppard pause.

An awkward pause all around, actually. “Of course,” Elizabeth answered, finally picking up on the tension. “Just call if you need anything.” And then, thankfully, John felt the stir of air of her departure, too.

“Anybody else here?” he asked tightly.

“No, I think the glare from your sunny disposition was too much for them.”

He ignored that. “What happened?”

“Well, as near as we can tell, some water damage made the panel explode when it was activated.”

“I _didn’t_ activate it.” It was weird, arguing into the darkness. If even simple contact wouldn’t have seemed too much to handle, he would have been tempted to reach for Rodney, just to know where the guy was.

As if Rodney knew, he moved in closer, his voice growing stronger, and his hip brushed John’s hand. “Apparently, you did. We already know some Ancient technology just requires the presence of someone with the ATA gene to activate, like the control room when we arrived or that hologram we found.”

John’s jaw was starting to hurt from all the clenching. “So I’m gonna have to be careful about the rooms I walk into or they might blow up on me.”

“Not just any room—the chances of this kind of damage in this kind of a panel are very slim, Major. You just got, er, unlucky.”

“Brilliant observation, Dr. McKay,” drawing out the sarcastic tones. “I feel a lot better now.”

“Well, you should. The chances of this happening again are…”

McKay was waiting for the usual rejoinder, a wry, _Never tell me the odds_. Unfortunately, John didn’t feel like playing. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he said flatly.

“They’re Atlantean doors—they don’t do that. Nor do they slam, unfortunately. You know, I really miss that, when you’re—”

It was like sandpaper on his exposed nerves. “For once in your life, Rodney,” John ground out, “take a hint.”

There was a long moment of quiet in which he could feel Rodney watching him. “The problem isn’t with me, Major,” he said pointedly. Then, with abrupt helplessness, “This isn’t going to be permanent.”

From Carson it had been a platitude. With Rodney, it sounded like heartfelt desperation. Before John could say anything, though, McKay turned heel and was gone.

Leaving him in silence. Darkness.

Alone.

With no one there to beat against, anger turned tide into bleak despair. There was no place for the blind in Atlantis, no home to retire to, no tools to help cope. He was nothing but a useless lump. In a few days, maybe he’d see again, but that was a hope he didn’t dare embrace. The sooner he dealt with the reality, the better.

Tomorrow.

Stiffly, John rolled onto his side, wincing as his salve-covered cheek brushed against the pillow. Reflecting morbidly that at least he didn’t have to close his eyes, he willed himself to sleep.

 

He awoke to a startled moment of not knowing where he was, no gun at his side, the room too dark to orient himself. Memory returned: day two of the rest of his life, such as it was.

Without Carson there to gripe, John tentatively reached up to feel the bandage that had so thoroughly restricted his world. He could feel its pressure against his burned face, but his senses were haywire, trying to adjust for the lack of sight, and he wanted the extra proof of his hands.

The gauze was a wide strip wound around his head, covering wads of padding over his eyes. Not exactly subtle. Above and below it, his skin was sensitive to touch, burns aching vaguely across his forehead and down his cheeks and chin. Probably a nice angry red. Together with the bandage, he doubtless painted quite the picture. Not that he’d be seeing it any time soon.

With barely controlled frustration, John dropped his arm and swung upright onto the edge of the bed. Vertigo washed over him, a combination of his injury and the lack of visual cues. John rode it out grimly, then slid to his feet. There were several beds in the infirmary, and he had no idea which he was in, but still, the bathroom would be about…there. With a tactical creep he’d learned for movement in darkness on missions, John moved toward his goal in careful inches.

His downfall was one of those stupid bedside tables that stuck out far beyond its base. By the time his socked feet encountered the metal rollers, his arm had already knocked into the tray, sending it sliding. Grabbing after it only succeeded in unbalancing him, too, and sending him crashing after.

Footsteps ran to help, and if John could have closed his eyes in mortification and resentment, he would have.

“Major, where do you think you’re going?” Beckett hooked an arm under his and helped him to his feet, steadying him while he found his balance.

“The bathroom,” John replied acidly. “Any objections?”

“No, but you could’ve asked for—”

Apparently, his stare was effective even without his eyes because Carson fell silent. A second, and John sighed, relenting. “Doc, I need to get out of here.”

“But where—?”

“My room. I know where everything is, I’ve moved around in it in the dark—I’ll be okay there.”

“Well, I suppose we could hop in to check on you. I can have meals sent to you there, too.”

“Fine.” Like food had even crossed his mind.

“But you’ll call if you need help.”

“Sure,” he lied.

He had a feeling Carson knew that from the hesitation in the doctor’s voice, but all that mattered was the reluctant, “Okay.”

Clothes were provided, along with what he assumed was some privacy but had no way of confirming. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t bashful, but he was grateful for something he could finally do without sight. John efficiently stripped the dreaded gown off and pulled his familiar black shirt and pants on in their place. Duty clothes. The implication wasn’t lost.

“Ready, Major?” Carson asked as he pulled the curtain aside.

John nodded tersely. Footsteps approached him, and before his arm was taken, something was pressed into his hand. It didn’t take much exploration to realize what it was: sunglasses. He nearly cracked a smile. “Thanks, Doc,” John said honestly, and slipped the glasses on, knowing they didn’t cover enough and probably even looked stupid but oddly comforted by the barrier between his obvious blindness and the world.

Carson took his arm and led him out the door.

There was, thankfully, a transporter near both the infirmary and his room, so the walking distance wasn’t too long. Still, it was long enough. No one spoke to him other than Carson’s quiet “Watch your step” at one point, but John could feel the stares, hear the steps that suddenly stopped. Some of his guys, seeing their leader in all his weakness? Or scientists, looking at the blind man who was supposed to protect them?

Carson stopped inside his door to give him a last few directions: keep hydrated, rest, blah, blah. When he left, John locked the door and sank down on a nearby chair. Home.

Blind.

He tested the word, examining the images it conjured: white canes, dark glasses, Seeing Eye dogs, Helen Keller. Not helplessness; blind people could live lives as rich as any other. But not in the military. Nor in a cockpit. Not in front of a TV watching a game, not even on a Ferris wheel. The simple pleasures, let alone the life he’d carved out for himself, were all gone.

Suddenly feeling the room closing in on him, John rose and, with one hand trailing along the wall, started a stumbling circuit around its circumference. Dresser. The colors of his clothes were meaningless and indistinguishable now. The mirror—yeah, that was a laugh. Bed. John sank down on it. He was still good for sleep, but that was about all. If he’d at least had his guitar there, he could have strummed a distraction, but no, his personal items were all painfully visual: _War & Peace_, a Johnny Cash poster, the football video. Useless. All of it was now useless, like him.

A buddy had been blinded years ago, catching shrapnel in the face from a bomb. Brad. He’d tried to laugh it off on the medical ship when John had come to visit him, joking about having to pat women down now that he couldn’t eye them. But the humor had fallen flat and, feeling awkward, John hadn’t stuck around long. He’d never seen Brad again, hadn’t even kept in touch. Who knew what to say to someone who’d just lost a huge chunk of their life?

And now he was that pariah. Atlantis had no retirement options. With no stateside to be sent home to, he was stuck there with the rest of the expedition, the people he’d worked with. The awkwardness would continue, pity and condescension and tiptoeing around him. In one sparking explosion, he’d gone from an active part of Atlantis’s crew and defense, to deadweight, a hindrance.

With a curse, John grabbed the book he knew would be lying on the bedside table and heaved it at the door. It connected and fell with a not-nearly satisfying thud. Rage still thrumming, he cast about for another object to take his wrath out on. The poster. Balancing shakily on the bed, John tore at it, bringing Johnny down in one swipe and leaving the wall bare and Atlantean warm beneath his hands.

John leaned against it and, finally sure of no audience, gave vent to tears.

The door chimed.

John didn’t bother pretending to look that way, just sent a mental command to open.

“Hey, sir.”

Ford. John’s face, tilted unseeingly up at the ceiling, lowered to stare unseeingly toward the door and the young lieutenant. “Ford. How’d the mission go?”

He could sense Aiden pulling himself up to attention as he reported. “We’ve got a new trading partner, sir. Captain Dunigan said it’s solid.”

“Good.” John nodded. His team had passed on the purely diplomatic mission, but Tim was short a man, and Ford had been free and willing. Ford was usually free and willing.

But he hesitated now. “I, uh, heard what happened, sir. I’m sorry.”

Bluntness with his peers was one thing. Subordinates were something entirely different. “It’s temporary, Lieutenant.” John waved a careless hand. “Couple of days R&R and I’ll be good as new.”

“Right, sir.” His confidence infused his second-in-command, and the relief in Aiden’s voice nearly made him wince. “Uh, is there anything I can get you?”

“Doc sent up some food before.” John nodded to one side of the bed where the still-full tray sat. “Thanks, I’m good.”

“Well, you feel like going somewhere or working out, Major, just let me know. I’ll even take it easy on you.” He was grinning; John could hear it.

He’d have frowned at the cockiness in any other of his men, but Ford was on his team and got a little more leeway. John just threw him a mock glare. “Don’t bother, Lieutenant,” he drawled, “it’ll just make it a fair fight.”

“Sure, sir.” The kid was humoring him, and John nearly bristled until he realized it was just Ford’s usual insouciant banter, not pity. His CO had just told him there was nothing to worry about, and Ford had believed him.

John knew he was on edge, couldn’t imagine why. Hackles lowering, he nodded at the door. “Go hit the showers, Ford—I can smell you from here.”

“Yes, sir.” Another grin, and the door shut behind him.

John stared blankly after him a minute, then stretched his legs out on the bed, settled the pillow in his lap, and leaned his head back against the wall.

Some time later—his clock, like everything else, had become invisible to him—the door chimed again. With a sigh, John sent it another command to open.

“Major Sheppard. I’m glad to see you back in your quarters.”

Embarrassment at the way he’d treated her the last time they’d talked made his voice gruff. “Elizabeth.”

“Carson tells me you’re feeling better.”

“Well, Carson was wrong,” he said pleasantly.

She had moved into the room, and he sensed her uncertainty about how close she should get, whether to touch or not. Probably hadn’t ever brokered deals before with someone who was blind.

He squirmed, irritated with himself for being so irritable with her. “Look, Elizabeth, if this is permanent—”

“We’re not there yet, John.”

“Beckett didn’t sound too sure about that. I’m just saying, if this is permanent, we’re going to have to…talk about some things.”

“Like other ways you can be useful on this expedition?”

“Like who’s going to replace me since I’m useless.”

“Blindness doesn’t mean uselessness, Major. There are still plenty of other ways you can help—tactics, experience, training…”

He flung the pillow aside. “I don’t want to be a teacher.”

“Because it’s so much better sitting in your room feeling sorry for yourself?”

John jerked back, stung. Self-pity—was that what he was doing? He thought he’d been licking wounds, staying out of people’s way who could still do their job. “It’s only been two days,” he said numbly.

“Exactly. And two days before Carson said we’ll have any idea if your eyes will heal. Still far too early to be talking about replacements or uselessness. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just on a short medical leave, okay?”

Optimism or denial: John couldn’t tell them apart anymore. “Okay,” he agreed wearily. At least it would give him a few days to think about what came next. Assuming, as Elizabeth had pointed out, this was even permanent. But he couldn’t seem to think of it any other way. Life hadn’t cut him many breaks, and he was far more used to bad news than good. Expected it, in fact.

“Okay,” Elizabeth said, sounding happy that she’d gotten him to admit that much. If she only knew. “I’ll be by later to see how you’re doing.”

John gave her a vague two-fingered wave. At least she hadn’t offered to get him something. He could have probably had every last squirreled-away candy bar in the city by now if he wanted, but everything tasted like mud in his mouth.

The door shut with a whisper, leaving silence and solitude again in its wake.

Teyla hadn’t been by yet, trying to be tactful. He gave it one more day before she showed up. Carson had brought the food not long ago, so he’d be gone for a while, too. And Rodney…well, for once, Rodney had actually listened to John and made himself scarce. Naturally, that made him the only one John had any desire at all to, well, see. Some sarcasm to jostle him out of his dark mood, someone who felt more sorry for themselves than for John, someone he didn’t have to watch his words with. Someone who knew just how scared he was. But maybe not, if he’d let the misdirected anger tick him off. John was truly alone once again.

He suddenly missed having a real window instead of the distorting slat Ancient version. At least the angle and brightness of the sun would have given him some idea of the time of day. Not that it mattered much, he supposed, and slid down further on the bed. He could sleep even when he wasn’t tired, storing it away for days of non-stop crises like some kind of sleep camel, and right now there was precious little to do and even less he wanted to dwell on. Mentally sending the door a “do not disturb” order, he tuned out his other senses and drifted off, to dream of color and light.

 

The third day, he ventured out, alone.

Atlantean hallways were open areas, studded with columns, instead of the straight, narrow hallways one usually found on Earth. It had never bothered John before, but he’d never had to use touch to navigate before, either.

He stood outside his door, sunglasses firmly in place, took a deep breath, and turned right.

He didn’t have a plan, just “out” and “away.” Two days in a room would make anyone claustrophobic, let alone someone who was trapped in the far more confining cocoon of darkness. If he didn’t get out, he’d go crazy long before Carson peeled the bandages off and confirmed his fate.

The gym, for all Ford’s optimism, was definitely out. The last thing John wanted was to cement in his people just how helpless he was. The mess hall didn’t interest him, and the control and rec rooms meant a lot of questions and sympathy. That pretty much left Rodney’s lab, which happened to be the way he was going already. Just a few hundred feet of hallway and down a flight of stairs, piece of cake.

Under his trailing fingers, the wall suddenly seemed a little warmer. John jerked away. The last time a wall had warmed to him hadn’t ended well. But he’d been by this section of hallway hundreds of times and there had never been any lights, no explosions.

Tentatively, he reached out again. A warm pulse flowed under his fingertips, just a few degrees more heated than the cool metal of the hallways. Kinda pleasant, actually. John frowned, stroking the wall once before he realized what he probably looked like, and pressed his palm flat onto the surface.

Definitely a pulse, going in the direction he was currently pointed. Some sort of guide, the Atlantean version of Mapquest?

He kept walking, the pulse traveling with him until he reached the edge of the wall. There, the thumping beat stopped in place. Great, now what? Was he supposed to take his boots off and pick up the rhythm with his bare feet?

The pulse turned downward, disappearing from under his palm. Left?

Slowly, John drifted toward the left.

“Can I help you, sir?”

One of his guys, though he couldn’t quite place the voice. “No, thanks,” he said, as chipper as if he wandered the halls blindly every day. “Carry on,” he added belatedly when the boots didn’t move away. He would have just been guessing about rank, and it was better to give the impression he didn’t know who he was talking to than to open his mouth and confirm it.

The boots reluctantly retreated. John sidled another step to the left, and bumped into a pillar. He rested a hand on it for balance, and felt the familiar throb still going south. Keep moving left. He was getting the hang of this.

Who knew he’d have an ally in the city?

The trip was slow but steady, and his confidence grew as he picked up the system. Sometimes he could almost feel the mental nudge the city was giving him to head in a particular direction. Well, why not? If he could talk to the city, as weird as the idea was, there was no reason the city couldn’t talk back. Had there been blind Ancients, John wondered? Or just ones with poor sense of direction? There had to be a reason for the system. Of course, maybe the city just liked him. His mouth quirked at the idea. Rodney would love that one.

Speaking of which, he was in the right hallway now, as the soft pulse through the metal banister led him down the stairs. John found himself counting doors even though the city seemed pretty sure where he was going. Sure enough, next to Rodney’s lab door, the warm beat stopped, then faded.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. Feeling almost himself again, John keyed the door open and stepped inside.

“McKay?”

No answer. Nor was there the sound of any movement in the room, nor the feel of another presence. No Rodney.

John’s brief upturn of mood took a sudden nosedive. There was an intercom on the wall nearby, and if he felt around on the worktable, he’d probably find an extra radio headset, but what was he going to do, call for Rodney to come meet him? Pull him away from whatever work he was doing, for what, to keep John company? Or to escort the blind man back to his room?

He was a real sucker. One short trip without falling on his face and he’d actually deluded himself into thinking that was some great progress. The fact of the matter was that he was blind, very possibly permanently, and no nifty navigational tricks of the city were going to change that.

The urge to throw something again, to wreak havoc just like havoc had been wreaked on his life, was powerful, but this wasn’t his room. Rodney didn’t need his toys broken, too, along with his best friend. John shoved down the churning rage into someplace deep, slammed the lid on, and turned back to the door.

And stopped.

He couldn’t go back out there, not yet. It had taken a lot of pride and courage to make that journey, and an immediate return trip was just too much. He’d sit first, think about this. Maybe Rodney would even come back in the meantime so the venture wouldn’t be a complete waste. Or maybe John could just move into the lab. There was a cot only a few feet away that Rodney never used, and the scientist was usually too absorbed in his work to care about company, anyway. At least it would give John something to listen to.

Oh, God, he rested his head against the cool glass door. He was losing it.

It was a minute before John took a deep breath, shoved away from the door, and felt his way to the cot, sinking down on the edge. He’d just…wait. Just for a little bit. See what happened.

Then he’d figure out what to do next.

 

“Major?”

His shoulder was gently shaken. John started awake, wondering why it was dark, if he’d fallen asleep while on watch, only to recognize the smell and feel of Atlantis. No, he was home, off-duty and off-kilter.

He swallowed, rewound. “Teyla?” he asked, wincing as he sat up. When had he lain down?

“I am sorry to bother you, Major, but Dr. Weir was worried when Dr. Beckett could not find you.”

“Where am I—oh. Right, the lab.” He dragged a hand through hair that probably looked like it’d been blown up, too. “I must’ve dozed off. Sorry about that.”

“There is no need. All that matters is that you are safe.” Her hand left his arm as she stood. “Did you come down here alone?”

“The city actually makes a pretty good guide dog.” Oh, right, Earth reference. “Uh, I had some help,” he clarified.

“I see,” she said, in a tone that made it clear she didn’t, but that was one of the things he loved about Teyla, that she never pushed. “Would you like me to bring you some food? You must have been here some time if you slept.”

“No, thanks.” Actually, his stomach was starting to be interested in nourishment again, but the way he’d massacred the last meal Carson delivered, he wasn’t ready to eat in mixed company. “Uh, do you know where McKay is?” At some point he’d wonder about how Teyla had known to look for him there, and Rodney hadn’t.

“I believe—”

“There you are. I should have checked here first, knowing your perverse nature—when I’m trying to get you down here for research, it’s like trying to herd a mule, but when you’re supposed to be resting in your quarters, where do you go? Figures.”

“Never mind,” John said dryly.

“He has been quite concerned for you,” she answered in undertones, a smile in her voice.

“And why shouldn’t I be?” Rodney had to be standing just a few feet away to sound that loud. “You get into trouble all the time normally, let alone when you’re…”

“Blind?” John prompted.

“I was going to say injured.” He sounded defensive.

“I will make sure the others know to stop searching,” Teyla interjected smoothly.

“Yeah, thanks, Teyla. Oh, and tell ’em I’m sorry for the disappearing act. I’ll make sure I leave a note next time.”

“Or better yet, you could just ask somebody for a hand. You’re lucky you didn’t fall off a balcony or…”

Funny how Rodney’s excitability always seemed to have the opposite effect on John. Sheppard idly ran a hand through his hair again and leaned back to listen. A voluble Rodney—which was basically an awake Rodney—was at least one thing he could place in his dark world: the flow of words always telling him where McKay was in the room, what he was doing, usually even what his expression was. There had been times in the past when John had just closed his eyes to listen to Rodney’s rants, mentally tracing him around the room and the topic and all its tangents, amused by God’s sense of humor in pairing a laconic guy like him with someone as verbose as Rodney McKay. Sitting there now listening in his involuntary darkness, John briefly felt normal again.

Rodney had stopped in front of him and cut off mid-phrase. “What happened to your hair?”

John made a face. “Hey, give the blind guy a break—it’s not like I can check it in the mirror or something.”

“Actually, I was going to say it looks better than usual.”

He shook his head, then leaned forward with a confidential smile. “I wouldn’t have gone off a balcony—the city’s looking out for me. It brought me here.”

“The city.” Incredible how much disbelief could fit into two little words. “You mean the transporters?”

“No,” John said patiently, “I mean Atlantis. The wall got warm and sort of…moved in the direction I wanted to go.”

“Well. How nice for the two of you.”

“I’m serious, Rodney. Look,” and he struggled to his feet, then felt his way around the corner of the cot to the wall. “Okay, I want to go to the mess hall.” The soft waves of heat began to flow under his hand. “See!” John exclaimed, and grabbed for Rodney’s hand, pressing it against the wall next to his.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Fine, try here.” He moved his hand back and Rodney’s into the spot where he’d been leaning. The pulse kept beating under his fingertips even as he moved them out of the way.

“Look, maybe we should have Carson take another look at you—a head injury can—”

He’d lost his independence, his command, and his eyesight, but no one had questioned his sanity until now. That last blow snapped the lid off his bottled anger without warning. “Forget it,” John said sharply, and flung Rodney’s hand away. “Just forget it—you’re right, the explosion probably knocked a screw loose, too. I should just go back to my room and finish going crazy where it won’t bother anybody. See you, McKay. Oh, that’s right, I won’t.” And he lurched toward the door, hoping the city could sort some destination out of his chaotic thoughts, because he didn’t know where he had left to go.

“Where are you going?” Rodney echoed dumbly behind him.

“What do you care?” he growled back.

“Wait, Major…John…that’s not what I meant.” Rodney hurried around to stand in front of him. “You came here for a reason, I know that, I just don’t…I don’t know what to say here, okay? I’m still figuring out this whole you-and-me thing, and then you go and get yourself blown up, and it’s not like they teach you what to say when your best friend goes blind for a while—I don’t think even Hallmark had a card for that.”

“It may not just be a while,” John said stiffly, unwilling to be mollified.

“Or you might be fine tomorrow. Yes, I know, I know, the waiting is the hard part, but it’s one more day. I’ve seen you put up with Kavanaugh for longer than that. So, can we maybe just…delay the meaningful conversations until we’re sure they’re necessary?”

How could you ignore a plea like that? John teetered on the edge between not wanting to set himself up for an even greater fall later, and desperately wanting to drive a little of the darkness away.

“Look,” Rodney said even more quickly. “What are you missing the most right now?”

The question distracted him. What did he miss—books? Colors? Faces? “Flying,” John said simply.

“That’s no problem—any time you say the word, Carson or I or somebody else can take you up and let you fly around empty space for a while. What else?”

His shoulders came down an inch. “ _Doing_ something,” John blurted out.

“Is that it?” He could feel Rodney’s surprise. “Right, of course, physical exercise, nervous energy…” He was talking to himself again. His fingers suddenly snapped, startling John. “I’ve got just the thing. Come on.”

There was a tug on his arm, and John anticipated being towed the whole way in Rodney’s wake. He was pleasantly surprised. Even as he gave in and started moving, Rodney shifted his arm so John was hanging on to the scientist’s elbow, following of his own will instead of being pulled around like a dog on a leash. It felt nice to have a choice.

They went to the nearest transporter, and John tried to place where they were as he stepped out. He couldn’t smell the mess hall anymore, and there was no scent of the ocean. No sound of movement around them, either—one of the less-used wings of the city then.

“F6,” Rodney abruptly answered the unspoken question, then fell silent again, even as John tried and failed to remember ever being in F6. Where were they _going_?

A door swished softly open before him, and Rodney stopped abruptly, John nearly running into him from behind.

“We’re here.”

“Great. Where’s here?”

“Oh, just something I came across a few weeks ago. Couldn’t think of much use for it until now.”

“ _What_?”

Rodney was facing him again, watching for his reaction, and sounded smug. “You’re very own private treadmill.”

That was not what he’d been expecting. “What?” John repeated in disbelief.

“Okay, so that’s probably not what the Ancients used it for, but the effect is the same—a part of the floor that keeps scrolling forward so you can run in place. If we could have figured out how, we’d have moved it to the workout room, but it’s not worth dismantling the whole floor for anyway, so it got catalogued and forgotten. Until now.”

“A treadmill.” Crazy as it was, the idea was starting to grow on him.

“You wanted to do something, right? Work off some of that worry? It’s like going on your daily run but with nothing to run into and no audience to be self-conscious about.”           

“Just what the doctor ordered,” John murmured. “So, set me up, Doc.”

He could practically feel Rodney beaming as McKay maneuvered him into place, explaining the size of the running area, the basics of how it worked, and how to turn it on. John flicked the mental switch, starting to lightly run as he settled into his usual rhythm.

“You know, I never really understood jogging. Running without needing to go anywhere—I mean, am I the only one that doesn’t make sense to? Plus the damage you’re doing to your knees…”

He tuned Rodney out, mentally toying with the speed setting, and bumped it up higher. It felt counterintuitive, running full tilt in complete darkness, but he ignored that, too. Rodney had been right, it was good to really be moving again.

“So, uh, how long do you usually jog every morning? I could always bring my laptop down here…”

The bandage was rubbing against the burned skin of his face, chafing as it grew sweaty. John turned up the speed to its highest setting, his easy jog now a hard run.

“Uh, Major, do you usually run this fast?”

McKay had no idea. The burn in John’s legs felt good, his heaving lungs purging something heavy inside him. He ran so much as a kid, his mother had said once he was trying to outrun the devil, and John swore he could feel that hot breath on the back of his neck now.

“Sheppard, I really think you should maybe stop now.”

His chest heaved with every step, breaths like sobs bursting out of his parched throat. His legs were starting to go rubbery, no longer moving in coordination, and light burst in front of his blind eyes. No matter how fast he ran, he never would outrun his devils.

He did, however, finally run out of air. The treadmill hiccupped, then stopped, and John stumbled a step further before his legs gave out, dumping him onto his knees. Rodney grabbed him by the arms before he could topple any further.

“You really are crazy!” The scientist was stuttering as he manhandled John’s limp, shuddery body over to the nearest wall and leaned him against it. “Jogging is supposed to be good for you—work off some excess energy, get the endorphins going. Trust you to turn a relatively safe activity into a suicide attempt!” Rodney straightened his akimbo legs, plopped his arms into his lap, and tilted his head gently back against the wall. He became muted. “Do I need to call Carson?”

Air was still at a premium and not to be wasted for talking, but John rolled his head from side to side.

“Okay. Um, stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He couldn’t have done much more if he’d wanted to. His body felt like a cooked noodle, his head swimming, lightheaded with too much exertion. A hard run shouldn’t have taken this much out of him, but maybe the blinding and the burns had taken their toll. Or maybe he just had ignored his body’s warning signs that he was pushing it too hard and fast, wanting to run himself into the ground. Who really cared, anyway?

“Here, drink this,” McKay reappeared next to him, and pushed something wet and curved into his hands. “A little at a time.”

A glass of cold water. John managed a few sips in between his easing gasps, and would have closed his eyes in appreciative pleasure if he’d been able.

“Better?” came the worried question.

He nodded.

“Good.” Rodney’s voice turned hard. “Then you want to tell me what just happened here?”

His body still felt wobbly weak, his head unsteady on his neck, but he could finally manage speech at least. “Exercise.”

“Try that on someone who doesn’t know you. I haven’t seen you run like that with the Wraith breathing down your back.”

The aptness of the image made him shudder. Rodney grabbed his arm as if he were worried John would fall over. “How long?” he asked with growing suspicion.

“On the treadmill? Over thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes? It had felt more like five. No wonder his body wasn’t liking him too much. But, “It felt good,” he admitted.

“Which would be a lot more reassuring if you weren’t here hacking up a lung. What were you running from, anyway?”

Again, a little close to the truth. John turned away, still puffing lightly.

“Fine. Be that way,” Rodney sniffed. “See if I dig you up any more Ancient toys to play with.”

“They make any spare eyes?” John mumbled.

Rodney hesitated. John’s head swiveled back to him.

“McKay?”

“Not eyes exactly…”

“ _What_ exactly?”

He could feel Rodney squirm next to him. “I didn’t want to tell you this and get your hopes up before I had anything, but there might be some medical devices that can help. Radek and Carson and I have been looking, and we’ve got some leads to follow up on. It might be nothing,” he rushed on, perhaps in response to the slack-jawed look John probably wore. “But…it might be something.”

He’d been listening to McKay for, what, an hour now? Heard the exasperation, the sarcasm, the worry. This was the first time he heard the exhaustion, too, subtly shading every word. Without the visual cues, he’d completely missed it. But three days, two nights, no visits from Rodney was finally starting to make sense. In more ways than one. John cleared his throat. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t my fault!” Rodney answered irritably. “How was I supposed to know your hyperactive gene would set off a water-damaged panel? Not to mention that any second-year science student knows how to duck when whatever they’re working on becomes that excited. This isn’t about me, Major.”

No, it was about him. It did give a whole new slant on the self-pity he’d been wallowing in, though. “You can’t fix everything, McKay,” John said gently.

“Oh, really. Isn’t that what you all are always asking me to do?”

“Not this time.” And with a start, John realized he meant it. Here he’d been expecting a cure from Carson, distraction from Rodney, answers everywhere but in himself. But permanently blind or not, what mattered was what he did with it, not what others did for him.

“No, not this time,” Rodney quietly agreed. “Look…John…I know I’m not exactly known for my listening skills—due in no small part to the fact that most people don’t say anything worth listening to—but…if it would help…”

For the first time in three days, he could see somebody besides himself, and the amused affection it stirred in him bent John’s mouth into a smile. “Nope. I think that run was all I needed.”

“Thank God.” Rodney sounded incredibly relieved, and John’s smile deepened. “You’re sure? I mean, I could always—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” A pause. “We’ll keep looking, Major. The Ancients were human, too—they had to have dealt with an occasional case of blindness. That…guidance system you found is a good sign.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that.”

“No, I said a head injury was a likelier explanation. But…the city does seem to respond to you more than to most of us.”

“It likes me.” He was being smug and didn’t care.

“The one thing it probably can’t sense is the size of your ego,” Rodney shot back.

“I just…” John’s smile faded. “I don’t like being useless. Almost as much as I don’t like being in the way. If that ends up happening—”

“We’ll dump you off on some empty planet to fend for yourself—yes, yes, I know. Did it ever cross your conceited little mind that what’s in here,” his finger poked the side of John’s head, “might be as much if not more useful than this?” A much lighter touch of the bandage by his eye. “I swear, you military types never think beyond the physical.”

“Oh, now I’m a ‘type’?” But John hadn’t missed the implied compliment, or the message it was buried in. Somehow, he believed it more from Rodney than from Elizabeth.

“If the adjective fits…”

“Actually, I think that’s a noun.”

“What, so now we’re arguing about grammar? I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.”

“Nouns?”

A beat. Then, with considerable dignity, “I want you to know, I’m cutting you a lot of slack here because you got blown up a few days ago.”

“Well, just as long as it’s not ’cause I’m blind…”

“Which is starting to seem like one of your better qualities.”

John smiled but was feeling too content to fight for the last word. He’d caught his breath and could have finally moved if he wanted to, but he felt no pressing desire. For once, the quiet wasn’t making him claustrophobic.

“We’ve only catalogued a fraction of what we’ve found in the labs so far, and we’ve only explored about five percent of the city so far,” Rodney finally spoke up.

“What’s your point?”

“That there might be something sitting in my lab right now that can help you and we just don’t know it yet. Even if the blindness is permanent—which, of course, it’s probably not—there could be some devices we can find or build that might help.”

All that talk about other ways of being useful hadn’t meant Rodney was giving up. As if John had needed that spelled out, underlined, and highlighted.

Okay, maybe just a little.

He snorted softly. “Like Geordi in Star Trek?”

“Minus the cheesy looking headband, yes.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“You and me both. The point is, we’ll keep looking.”

“Okay,” John accepted the promise. “And I’ll just…think positive.”

“You do that.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Fine.” A few seconds went by. Then, “So, can I get up off the floor now?”

John laughed.

Rodney walked him back to his room and, muttering about the small mental capacity of cooks and medics, cobbled together a manageable sandwich out of John’s meatloaf dinner before departing for his lab. With all the fussing, John didn’t realize until much later how neatly Rodney had maneuvered him into that pact and what he’d actually promised. Trust and faith, in exchange for Rodney doing everything possible to help him get his sight back. In retrospect, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t gotten the harder end of the deal.

Then again, knowing Rodney McKay…maybe not.

 

There were some advantages to being blind.

The breeze stirring his hair had the usual saltwater tang to it, as well as some other, more acrid mineral he hadn’t noticed before, and even a hint of flowers from the mainland. If anyone had really bothered to smell the air when they’d first gotten there, they would have known sooner that there was land on the planet. Small waves slapped the base of the city with a smack that reminded John of water bumping against a fishing boat, and the railing was warm under his fingers, the city’s tacit acknowledgement of his presence on the balcony after having led him there. In all, it was a feast of the senses he’d always been too busy, too distracted to notice.

“May I join you?”

It only took a moment to place the feminine voice. John made the useless gesture of turning toward her purely out of politeness and nodded. “Dr. Heightmeyer. Sure, why not.”

The scent of her added another element to the breeze, and she was close enough that he could feel her warmth. “It’s a beautiful evening,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, somewhat warily. No one had ever joined him out there before except by invitation, let alone the expedition shrink. But it was a nice evening, the moons probably out in all their shining glory by now. He’d felt the sun set about an hour before.

“And how are you doing, Major?” she asked pleasantly, and he could picture her exact expression, her eyes on him now.

His mouth twisted. “Are you asking personally or professionally?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

John turned back to the view over the water that he couldn’t see. “Actually, I’m doing okay.”

“That’s good to hear. A change like this can be very hard to adjust to sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?” He raised an eyebrow under the bandage.

“What I mean is, some people have a lot harder time with it than others—it takes time to realize they can do almost everything they did before, they’ll just have to learn some different ways to do them.”

“Flying?” he said archly.

“Well, no, there are some limitations—”

“The Air Force?”            

“Major—”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” John relented. He actually liked and respected the psychologist—he’d already sent her a few of his guys who were having trouble adjusting to life on Atlantis. She was just a day late in tracking him down. “I’m not trying to dodge you. I just…I’m really doing okay. Now, maybe that’s going to change when Carson does his big unveiling tomorrow, and I might come knock on your door if it does. But right now, I’m just enjoying a nice evening in Atlantis.”

“Well. I’m glad to hear that, Major.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.” He could hear the curiosity in her tone, wondering _why_ he was doing so okay but too tactful to ask. He kinda doubted she’d understand Rodney’s brand of treadmill therapy, anyway. Probably not something they taught in shrink school. Heck, it had taken McKay’s twisted mind to come up with it in the first place. What that said about John, he was just as happy not to consider.

Heightmeyer wasn’t leaving, though, still leaning on the railing next to him. Maybe off duty now? John joined her, resting his arms against the warm metal.

“Did you know the city hums?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, not out loud, just kinda in the background, like it’s happy everything’s fine.”

“Really?” But there was no disbelief in her tone, only interest. “I wonder if you can hear it because of your gene?”

Or maybe because he’d finally bothered to listen. John shifted, growing more animated. “Or did you notice the way the doors catch the light from the windows and spread it around the room so you can feel it even in the corners?”

“No, actually, I didn’t.”

He shrugged. “Me neither, until this week.”

“Tell me more.”

She sounded like a woman now instead of a shrink. In his darkness, he could picture her any way he wanted, and why not enjoy the company, right? A little red dress, some moonlight…

With a grin, John turned toward her, one elbow on the railing for orientation, and obliged her.

 

“Are you ready, Major?”

“Just do it, Carson.”

Beckett’s light touch skimmed the side of his head, peeling off the edge of the bandage. John could feel the lessening of pressure as the doctor began to unwind the long strip of gauze. “Now, I’ve turned the lights down so we don’t go shocking your eyes.”

“Assuming I can see anything,” John said bluntly.

The merest pause in Beckett’s movement. “Aye. But I have every reason to believe you will.”

“Terrific.” It seemed harder to stay optimistic with every layer of bandage that came off. As long as it had stayed on, he’d at least had hope…well, once he’d found hope. Soon, however, he’d know for sure, blind or sighted, black or white. John’s resolve crumbled a little more. “Hey, no one else is here, right?”

“Don’t worry, you’ve got your privacy. I turned away a disappointed crowd, though, I’ll tell ya. You’ve got friends plenty, Major.”

A little of the tightness in his chest eased. Yeah, he did have friends. Some darn stubborn ones. And a city on his side, and lots of alien technology they were still figuring out. Even if this dice roll came up craps, he still had hope.

The last of the gauze came off, leaving his face feeling bare and itchy. “I’m going to take off the pads now. I’ll just lower the lights a little more, then we’ll raise them gradually. Don’t expect to see clearly at first.”

“I’m not expecting anything right now, Doc,” he said truthfully, but held his breath as Beckett gently plucked off the cotton pads.

For the first time in four days, John Sheppard opened his eyes. To darkness.

The stab in his chest was as vicious as a knife wound, and John heard the tremor in his own voice. “Doc…”

“Give it a minute, Major—it takes time for the eyes to get used to seein’ again.”

The light crept in so slowly, he didn’t recognize it at first. Dark haze separated from light, forming edges, contrasts. “My God,” John murmured, marveling at the colors that began to appear: beige beds, Carson’s white coat, blue and Atlantean orange in the distance, all so much richer than he’d remembered.

“I take it they’re working?” Beckett asked dryly, but he sounded glad.

Looked glad, too, as John focused on his face. The details were blurry but the smile was as clear as the joy that was squeezing the air from his own lungs. The light had grown so strong, he had to squint.

“Too bright?” Carson asked cheerfully. “Better and better. Okay, that’s enough for today.” Something was slipped into his lax fingers, and John took a minute to realize it was the sunglasses. “It’ll take another day or two for your eyes to fully adjust, and I want you to take it easy on them in the meantime. But I don’t think you’ll be needing those long. It seems you’re cured, Major.”

“Thanks, Doc,” he said fervently, shaking Carson’s hand, to the doctor’s apparent amusement. John slipped the glasses on, the dimness a relief and unexpectedly bringing everything into sharper relief. The infirmary had never looked so good, from the row of empty beds to…

Rodney McKay standing in the corner, grinning and bouncing on his toes. As John’s gaze landed on him, he offered a happy wave.

“What’re you doing here?” John demanded. “Carson, you said—”

“I said you had your privacy,” the doctor answered, unruffled, folding the bandage. “Considering the states you two have seen each other in, I didn’t think Rodney compromised that. Besides, he wouldn’t let himself be turned away like the rest of ’em.”

“Yeah, he can be stubborn like that,” John agreed, staring daggers across the room.

Rodney utterly ignored that as he strode over. “Look at it this way, Major, if you’d have stayed blind, you’d never have known I was here, and if you didn’t, which obviously you haven’t, I figured you wouldn’t care.”

But he’d be there to console or rejoice as needed. Even with his fuzzy eyesight, John could see in McKay’s face the profound relief that mirrored his own, the fading worry lines and smudges of fatigue around the eyes from nights of research. John gave him a token frown, also effortlessly deflected, then couldn’t stop the creeping grin any longer. “Guess you won’t have to dig up that Ancient technology, after all,” he said.

“Yes, because that was my concern in all this, finding the time to track down Ancient ophthalmologic devices for you.” Rodney rolled his eyes.

John had missed that. “I know why you’re here, and I appreciate it,” he said earnestly.

Nothing flummoxed Rodney McKay more than sincerity. His smug bearing faded, and he blinked as he tried to figure out what to make of that. “Well…you’re welcome.”

“But…”            

A fine frown line appeared between Rodney’s eyes. “But what?”

“Was your hair always like that?”

His hand automatically went to his head. “Like what?” Rodney’s eyes narrowed. “You’re doing this to annoy me, aren’t you? After everything I did for you, you ungrateful…American!”

That was a new one. John’s eyebrows climbed, and he traded an amused look with Beckett. “I don’t remember his eye doing that twitching thing, either, Doc, do you?”

Rodney crossed his arms and glared at him. “It’s a shame Carson couldn’t fix your sense of humor along with your eyes.”

John grinned. God help him, even that glare looked good. “C’mon, McKay,” he slid off the bed and threw an arm around stiff shoulders. “Let’s go see some people.”

“You’re not getting off that easily, Major,” Rodney huffed but let himself be turned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And he wouldn’t. He’d been blessed more than one way that week, and John knew it. Could see it clearly, in fact. At that moment, there wasn’t one more thing he could have asked for.

Well, maybe one…

“Hey, you wanna watch some football?”

The End


End file.
